Chapter 6 - The Letter, Part 2

Note: to go to start of SEA DOGS click on the very first post

The Beginning; Prologue - The Attic

Chapter 6
The Letter
Part 2

James made it to safety first, shaking the rain drops from her uniform; with Stark close behind & together they climbed the stone steps to the oak door. After slipping on gloves & paper coveralls over shoes, Stark unlocked the door with the spare key Miss Puckett had lent them.

On entering James immediately noticed a pile of shopping bags that had been casually dumped in the far corner of the spacious hallway.

“Better we leave things as they are for now, until we looked around a bit.” Stark instructed as he pulled out a note book.
No signs of forced entry.. he wrote as he studied the lock & door frame.

James declared that she would take the upstairs, as she rounded the first corner & made her way to the staircase at the end of the long, dark, wood panelled corridor, which rose above the cloak room. She held the wooden banister as she climbed the stairs paisley carpet under coverall-covered-foot.
                Once she had reached the landing she headed instinctively down the hallway which led to the bedrooms. There she started her search, beginning with the master. Each room boasted en suite bathrooms, but was dimly lit by the failing daylight, except for when occasional flashes of lightning ignited the walls casting furniture shadows. She tried a light switch, but the storm must have taken out a power line, for not a flicker of life was visible as she glanced up at the decretive lampshade, which was suspended from the white circular coving.
 Stark carefully moved through the down stairs rooms searching for anything noticeable, or unusual. From the Hallway he passed the entrance to the study, to the left of the corridor, opposite the double doors to the living room.  He stopped & turned to make his way in as he gripped the highly polished brass door handles & pulled. The opened doors revealed an elegant burgundy dominated decor, middle class in style & taste, predominantly dictated by cost.
A large four-piece suite of leather, cherry coloured furniture lay before him; arranged in front of a large open fire place; so large that it was possible for two grown men to stand shoulder to shoulder in the opening. The extravagant centrepiece which lay empty, but nonetheless dominated the enormous living room, was topped by a high mantelpiece, which dripped with copper & brass ornaments. Displayed on the mahogany living room table, which was located by the large double glazed French windows, was a recent family photograph of the grown up children & their mother & beside it stood a larger solid silver framed picture of the deceased father, he assumed. Stark could see a likeness in the eyes, especially when comparing the father with the son. Miss Puckett had mentioned that the father had died aged 42 & the man photographed was somewhere near that age, he estimated. He crossed the deep pile carpet & gently lifted both framed photographs from the table top; stowing them in separate clear plastic bags. Otherwise, there was nothing out of the ordinary to speak of in any of the down stairs rooms, except that there was the usual closed house, musty smell in the Dining room, living room, but more notably a different, stronger odour in the kitchen. It was a smell of newness, a smell of...

“Either this family travelled light, or they’re planning on buying a load of clothes when they get to where they’re going,” called James as she descended the staircase, interrupting Stark’s train of thought.

She entered the dining room through the already opened doors that adjoined the corridor, opposite the kitchen entrance.

“Also the bathroom cabinet is full; the toothbrushes & all are still in place. Otherwise, not a single sign of anything unusual upstairs, except for a strong smell in the end bedroom.”

“Yeah, it’s the same story down here & there’s also a lingering smell & it’s more apparent in the kitchen than anywhere else.” Stark answered as they made their way into the kitchen.

“Is it the same as upstairs?”He asked.

“Yes, but this is much, much stronger.” James replied as she walked to the centre of the room & stopped, whilst Stark remained rooted to the spot, just inside the doorway.

It was a huge kitchen - there was no doubt & it was rectangular in shape, with a large wooden table in the middle. Empty racks over hung the table, void of any home baked bread & fruit. There was a wrought iron wood burner painted black, in the far left hand corner with a shiny copper hood. A porcelain sink, complete with gold taps & the modern looking draining board were propped against the facing wall, next to the stove. The door to a walk-in larder was to the left & two more doors were directly in front & to Stark’s right: The first leading to a spacious utility room & then on into the back garden; whist the other opened into the cloak room that lay below the staircase; which in turn lead the way to what once was the tradesmen’s entrance. All the cupboards were built of the same wood as the table, in pine & half way between the cloak room door & the far right hand corner stood the large white fridge freezer.

“It’s not a bad smell....It’s a new smell.....It’s a....paint smell,” continued James.

“That’s it!” confirmed Stark.

 “Perhaps from decorating Sir?”

“That’s possible too.” Stark replied.


Written by T.R.Vinnicombe (aka Dr. Peter Hodgkins) ©2009 all rights reserved & none of the contents of this site can be copied or used in any way without the written consent of the author. Published online by MicroHotStar 2009.

Chapter 6 - The Letter, Part 1

Note: to go to start of SEA DOGS click on the very first post
The Beginning; Prologue - The Attic

Chapter 6
The Letter
Part 1

There was a storm coming, Stark could feel that the wind had changed as he stepped through the glass doors of the HQ. The morning had been a scorcher, with high pressure & thunder was now in the air.
He made a quick dash for it, to the car from the steps & managed to jump in & close the door just before the rain came. James was however less fortunate & she swore to herself, scrambling into the driver’s seat beside him. Once in, she fumbled, with wet fingers, for the ignition key before eventually starting the engine & driving away off up the street. It was her turn to drive, for he wasn’t feeling himself.


Stark’s head was thumping almost in unison with the ticking of the grandmother clock, which was situated at one end of Miss Puckett’s living room. The pain killers, that he had popped earlier, before they had left, had not, as of yet, taken affect. Maybe it was developing into a migraine, he thought to himself, but he hoped not. One thing for sure was that it was affecting his train of thought. He tried with all the self discipline he could muster, without actually showing it, to listen to Miss Puckett’s every word. James had noted the conversation in detail, just in case. Even so, Stark had managed to get the gist of it.

              Originally, some two weeks earlier, the local bobby had been called in after there was concern for a family who, after 12 months away, had not returned home. Without any real word of their exact whereabouts, it had started to worry the old lady. Supposedly they had left to visit friends, but after much thought she managed to obtain the friends address & telephoned, only to learn, to her dismay, that this was not true. Miss Puckett, a close family friend, was worried & puzzled for she had received a hand written letter, which had been posted locally, from the family the night before they disappeared, a year ago. It had told of their last minute decision to travel to Australia. She confessed that she had been surprised that Mrs. Drew had not mentioned it in advance, in person, instead of sending the letter. Indeed she had thought it most odd. However, due to the circumstances, & she explained how the sudden death of the father had affected them all, she had originally put it down to one of those things. Over the last few months her concern grew & after her telephone call to Australia she contacted the police.
               When this was explained by the spinster James understood only too well, as her thoughts for a moment turned to the loss of her own father & then it was gone. Stark asked if they could take the letter for examination & the old lady handed it to the detective as he placed it in a plastic bag.





              By now moving storm clouds had darkened the skies, like slow moving flocks of bats & the large conifers, that lined the driveway to the house, as if to guard, blew violently in the cross wind. James drove the car around the overgrown central island, situated three quarters of the way down the snaking gravelled drive, eventually entering the neat semi-circular court yard, in front of the large old house & parked.
            Various shades of rain-filled greys adorned the heavens above, as if stroked onto the canvas of some noir masterpiece. A warning, if ever there was one, that something lurked below the facade as the volatile sky overhung the elegantly designed building. Through the rain soaked windscreen, which twisted & distorted their view, Stark & James surveyed the property. It was just possible to make out the front porch & in the torrential rain they both made a run for it, as thunder rolled over head.


Written by T.R.Vinnicombe (aka Dr. Peter Hodgkins) ©2009 all rights reserved & none of the contents of this site can be copied or used in any way without the written consent of the author. Published online by MicroHotStar 2009.

Rolls Royce & the Merlin Engine

Stark's Car

POEMS MADE IN OZ

Check MINA HUNTER'S POEMS!

A classic look that wouldn't be out of place in Casablanca or in an Alfred Hitchcock movie!

Chapter 5 - The Meeting, Part 5

Note: to go to start of SEA DOGS click on the very first post
The Beginning; Prologue - The Attic

Chapter 5
The Meeting
Part 5

              As Dr.Hodgkins entered the room the first thing he noticed was that the walnut desk was pretty bare, except for a small pile of papers in an in-tray next to an empty out-tray & a single silver pen neatly placed to one side.

Governor Wilson glanced up at Hodgkins from behind a copy of the Times & as the doctor inched forward, closer to the desk, he could clearly see the anger in his eyes.

The Governor of Prince Town Prison was a thin, tall man with green eyes & reptilian features. In his late fifties, dressed in a business-like suit, with blue tie & white shirt, he started.

“Can you believe the fucking news? Rolls Royce is likely to be sold to the Germans!
How can this be?.. My father would turn over in his grave, if he bloody had one,” barked Wilson as he looked up again. “You see... he was shot down over the channel during the Battle of Britain,” he continued forcibly.
Hodgkins was taken aback by the nature of this initial outburst, for this was their first real meeting, face to face. There had been no pre-warning of this during their brief telephone conversations. In fact Wilson’s larger than life aggression had surpassed Hodgkins’s expectations, considering his less than impressive physique.
Uhhmm ..a fiery bugger, thought Hodgkins. Good character material.

Patriotically speaking, Hodgkins, in truth, was also aggrieved by the prospect of losing one of Britain’s national treasures & he was drawn to the framed photographs that adorned the wall directly behind the angry Governor. It was only really then that he noticed that the room was more of a study than an office.

Three in all, they hung in a line. To the left was a large black & white photo, which must have been taken from the cockpit of another plane, for it was in mid-flight & showed
     ..”A MKXVIII Spitfire complete with a two stage super charged Merlin Engine. And that’s a Firefly also built with Rolls Royce Merlin Engines, I believe,” Hodgkins remarked as he turned to the central framed photograph.
“Yes, doesn’t it make you proud?” Wilson’s response being more controlled, as he rotated his swivel chair to face it.
“Are you an enthusiast?”
Dr. Hodgkins pulled a chair as he moved in for the kill; geared to extract just the right amount of information needed, so as to build a mental picture of the character’s profile. Perhaps he would use it for his next novel....Perhaps?

 Eventually after this topic of conversation, along with the Governors family history had been exhausted, the subject turned to the reason behind his visit to the prison. Hodgkins, when challenged, expertly avoided the main point & dismissed it as research for a forth coming publication, “..although further visits would be necessary,” he added. He also portrayed Stark as “an accompanying friend”, managing, in the process, to omit his true involvement.

Wilson opened the walnut desk drawer in front of him & removed the dog-eared paperbacks, proudly placing them in front of his visitor. Copies of Hodgkins own novels, they were displayed whilst Wilson, an avid fan, proceeded to question the author regarding the next book’s subject matter. It was now apparent why the governor had been so accommodating concerning the visit in the first place. Taken by surprise but, nevertheless, asked this question countless times a week, when confronted by strangers in the street, he had, by now, learnt how to “decline to elaborate”, stating that it was “too early to be certain”. Besides, there were numerous alternative central & sub-plots that he was currently considering,” he would say. In this particular instant, Hodgkins did however; go on to mention that it was highly possible that this visit could form the basis of the eventual central plot. Wilson could hardly contain his excitement & after signing the paperbacks & promising to send a signed copy of his next novel, after publication, Hodgkins said goodbye & left.


Stark had been patiently waiting in his car, in the visitor’s car park. Hodgkins walked to the Jag & opened the passenger door.

“I do believe that it went reasonably well. What do you think?” remarked Hodgkins as he jumped in before fastening his seat belt.

“Yes,.. in the end it went ok, but you really had me worried when you threatened to leave. -Shit.”

“Higgins was testing us. He wanted to see how far we’d go, so I bluffed. ”-Got to show them
who’s in control...” Hodgkins half joked, as he looked ahead, “...they respect that; and generally speaking, respect leads to trust.”

There was no arguing with that Stark decided- even though he considered that the method applied could be regarded by some to be flying by the seat of one’s pants to a certain extent, as he started the car; but then again it fitted with Hodgkins’s flamboyant character.
“Do you think that it’s possible to arrange further meetings & if so will you be able to find the time?”

“I’m sure that it could be arranged,” winked Hodgkins, as they pulled off.

The initial meeting had begun to build the bridge of trust that was needed in order to progress. It also allowed Stark the chance to meet Jenkins for the first time. Both Hodgkins & Stark were able to analyze the subjects enough to establish that they were genuine, although cautiously untrusting, even though things had started badly.

    The man in black watched from the safety of the overlooking telephone box, as the Jaguar headed up the main street. He quickly jumped into the Vauxhall Vectra & continued to tail the car, but only as far as the edge of town.

Written by T.R.Vinnicombe (aka Dr. Peter Hodgkins) ©2009 all rights reserved & none of the contents of this site can be copied or used in any way without the written consent of the author. Published online by MicroHotStar 2009.

 

Chapter 5 - The Meeting, Part 4

 

Note: to go to start of SEA DOGS click on the very first post
The Beginning; Prologue - The Attic
 

Chapter 5
The Meeting
Part 4

                             
“Please let me begin by introducing my colleague...” Dr. Peter Hodgkins began.
“You never mentioned bringing anyone with you in your letters.” Higgins interrupted abruptly.

“No, I know, but together...” & he turned to Stark before he commenced his eye contact with the prisoner through the badly scratched screen. “..We believe that we can help.”

“Help? In what capacity do you think you can help; considering there have been others, with more experience than the pair of you put together-may I add-, that have come & gone, promised & failed,...lied & cheated, before you?” Higgins ridiculed with a steely glare.
Hodgkins bit his lip, but said nothing.

“-However I’ve read your first book -you know. Not bad.., but it wasn’t exactly Sir Arthur Conan Doyle -was it?” Higgins sneered.

“Look, let’s not get off on the wrong foot now. - Shall we? Dr.Hodgkins calmly pleaded.

Whilst Higgins & Hodgkins were drawn into a match of attack & defence, both Stark & Jenkins remained silent. In contrast, to be exact, Stark was the interested bystander, whilst Jenkins was apparently lost in his own world; so much so that it was as if he were not there.

“Your letters were much like the book. They began with promise, but ultimately they lacked anything of real value. I do hope you have something of worth to say today” Higgins scorned.

“There must have been something in their content that interested you, for why else would we be here?” -Stark cut in with reference to Hodgkins’correspondence.

“Who rattled your fuckin’ cage, then?!” Higgins snorted aggressively, as he scowled at the Detective from behind the protective screen.

“Ok! That’s it!! Hodgkins shouted angrily, as he jump from his seat. “I’ve heard quite enough for one day. Come on, let’s go.”
He continued assertively & he glanced at his friend as he spoke.
“I think we have better things to do with our time. Don’t you agree? -This was obviously all a mistake.” The doctor untidily grasped his things in one motion with both hands & forced his wooden chair under the table. It clattered into place as he did so.

Stark looked up in astonishment. This wasn’t at all normal for Hodgkins. The normally placid doctor had lost it like never before. -What the hell was happening? They couldn’t just walk out now. Not after all the work they’d done & what about the diaries? And what about.... Stark’s panicked thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

“No!!”... “Stop!!” came the unexpected command from Jenkins, as he sprang to life.

Hodgkins, as if stood to attention, remained rooted to the spot, as he stared back in the direction of Jenkins; as together the pair shared real, meaningful eye contact for the first time.

“...Please?” came the whispered plea to the warring pair, from the convicted mass murderer’s lips. His eyes looked deep & sad, tormented by his past.

Hesitantly, without a word of reply, Hodgkins placed his books back on the desk top & slowly pulled the chair out & sat.
“Let’s start over again –shall we?” he said.
A relieved Stark breathed again.

Written by T.R.Vinnicombe (aka Dr. Peter Hodgkins) ©2009 all rights reserved & none of the contents of this site can be copied or used in any way without the written consent of the author. Published online by MicroHotStar 2009.